


For A Little While

by Mathemagician37



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mathemagician37/pseuds/Mathemagician37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after season 4 finale.</p>
<p>Root and Shaw are on a mission together, but things don't go as stealth as any of them have planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first Shoot fanfiction I've written. This part will be between 5 and 8 chapters (give or take a few), but I have ideas for a second and third part, so if there's a legitimate amount of people interested in it, I will write them. The summary doesn't betray too much about what this story is about (I suck at them), only WHEN and that there's probably going to be lots of shooting. Well, that's not wrong, but I'm not going to say more about it than that.
> 
> Before you start reading this, I want to thank my awesome friend Joana (@TheOtherGayCousin on Tumblr) for being an amazing beta. So if you like this fic, make sure you also give her some credit!
> 
> Also, neither of us is native English speaker, but we do our best. And if you see a particular mistake or something that bothers you, feel free to message me. Any feedback is welcome. :)
> 
> Anyway, enough talk, I hope you enjoy reading it!

Root dove behind a file cabinet as she checked the magazine of her gun. Only three rounds left.

“I’m almost out of ammo, Shaw.” she called out to Shaw, who was busy firing a few rounds with her own gun as bullets whizzed over their heads and barely missed every one of them.

With her free hand, Root reached at her side, feeling a warm liquid dampen the material of her shirt. She drew her hand back, and confirmed her suspicion. Blood. From what she could tell, the bullet had only grazed her side, leaving a superficial flesh wound.  She didn’t think it would be too serious of an injury, but she didn’t bother to even think about stemming it. It would keep bleeding, but Root decided to ignore it, having more important business to take care of instead of sulking over superficial scratches.

“I’m running low, too.” Shaw said slightly out of breath. They had been running from security for over twenty minutes. “You got the flash drive?”

Root held it up as a manner of indicating the positive, stuffing it safely in her pocket.

“Does the Machine have an escape route for us?” Shaw questioned while examining her magazine and quickly calculated how many extra bullets she had left.

“If She has, She’s not telling.” Root responded with something of an amused look on her face as she shrugged and shook her head. The Machine was still not on speaking terms when it came to the way Root handled some of the missions She assigned to her. Or rather the ones she didn’t assign to her at all. But it caused her to have to come up with a plan of her own this time. Like old times. And being there with Shaw made her feel at ease, even though there was blood seeping through her shirt and bullets whizzing around their heads. It was just Root, Shaw and the mission. Which was everything she needed. Everything she wanted.

Shaw scanned Root's face. She couldn't help but be slightly amazed by Root's unwillingness to lose her nerve at their current situation – because, let's face it, their odds weren't very satisfactory, and definitely not in their favor. But Shaw wouldn’t be Shaw if she weren’t always ready for anything, even if she didn't have the tools for it.

"What are you suggesting we do?" Shaw asked before she fired a few rounds around the corner of the cabinet to keep the enemies off for a little while longer, to grant them just a little more time. "I have enough ammo to give cover, but I can't go on like this forever."

Root considered their options. They didn't have many, but the very few they had.. neither of them seemed  tempting.

"Root," Shaw said, snapping Root out of her thoughts and spurring her onto action.

" _Sameen_.." Root said in a sugary manner, earning an eye roll from the woman she had aimed it at. "You still have that flash grenade?" She asked with a smirk. A smirk that told Shaw enough.

Shaw’s lips curled into a subtle grin, her hand sliding into the pocket of her coat, finding the explosive device. “Of course I do.” She flipped it over in her hand once, as if emphasizing that she was ready to roll and cause some mayhem. It was in a way not different from when they had been in the stock exchange. But then instead of a flash grenade, she had flipped a bar of C4, before Shaw had effectively saved their lives.

Root’s stomach churned at the memory. It seemed like ages ago, but remembering what Shaw had done; what had happened. Knowing what Root had lost and what she had done in a frantic attempt to get her back. How she had almost believed that Shaw was gone, but had always kept hope in the back of her head. How she had gone through hell and back, destroying every form of morality she had left; everything that the Machine had taught her; that Harold had taught her. Everything that she had grown to believe in because of these people that worked for the Machine, too.

She thought she could sacrifice it all. If it would give her Shaw back, she had been willing to do just about everything.

Anything.

Finding out that Shaw was in fact still alive had been a relief. Even if she weren’t her friend anymore.. Even if she weren’t in her life anymore... It was all better than the thought of Shaw being dead; wiped from the face of this planet. The idea that Sameen Shaw wouldn’t let out a single breath anymore was too much.

With Shaw here beside her, alive and kicking – quite literally at that – the smell of gunpowder and smoke lingering in her nose, Root almost felt something she hadn’t felt ever since the events of the stock exchange had left their story unfinished: alive.

 “Ready to roll?” Shaw asked somewhat smugly. She grabbed her gun in her right hand and the flash grenade in her left, training her eyes on Root as she kept track of every move she made. But Root was far away, Shaw’s words sinking in, her mind wandering to that familiar, everything deciding day. The stock exchange. Her lips curled up a bit, and a chuckle almost escaped her mouth, the memory feeling all too real in that moment. A memory that hadn’t crossed her mind ever since she’d experienced it live. But it explained exactly why it had become her motto lately, apparently adopted from Sameen Shaw. And it was exactly that moment that it dawned on her how much of an influence Shaw had on her. What kind of imprint she had left on her. How profoundly she was rooted in her being. “Root?” Shaw insisted, derailing Root’s train of thoughts.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply in and out. “That way.” The tall brunette retorted, gesturing in the opposite direction. In the direction they had just come from and from where their assailants were shooting at them.

“You’re serious?” Shaw questioned, raising her eyebrow in suspicion. Her eyes were roaming over Root’s figure, carefully assessing if the woman was joking or not. But everything in Root’s posture pointed at the woman being dead serious.

“The door behind us leads to one long hallway, which gives us barely to no cover.” Root explained, remembering the schematics of the building. “If we go back-“

 “We can zigzag. Got it.” Shaw finished the plan in a nutshell, knowing what Root was up to. She could feel the adrenaline starting to flow again, giving her the boost she needed to get them out of the room. She pulled out the pin and threw the flash grenade at their opponents as they both covered their ears and closed their eyes.

As soon as the grenade had done its job, Shaw took her aim and started firing at the part of their enemy that was still standing, while gesturing at Root to make a move for the other side of the room. With the cover provided by Shaw’s shooting as an advantage, Root started running, as fast as she could with her side increasingly hurting and the blood loss taking its toll. The adrenaline coursing through her veins was winning it from both. She kept sprinting, with Shaw hot on her heels, literally running for their lives. Just like old times.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Right. She lost track of the route they had taken, her mind cloudy and her lungs burning in her chest. She must have slowed her pace at some point, because Shaw had caught up with her, grabbing her jacket from behind and pulling her into what looked like a server room. Her hand covered Root’s mouth and she pushed her flush against the wall, quieting the taller woman as they listened to the footsteps that approached rapidly.

They held their breath, even though Root’s lungs were in desperate need of oxygen. It seemed like an eternity, but eventually the footsteps died out in the distance, the people that were chasing them apparently falling for their little scheme. When Root finally allowed herself to breathe again, she realized just how close they were standing, Shaw’s hand still covering Root’s lips.

The room in which they were hiding out wasn’t small, but it was packed with servers, making the space left to move warm in an unpleasant way and very narrow, which didn’t grant them exactly that much proximity. They were standing so close that Root could feel Shaw’s breaths across her face; that she could feel her heartbeat.

Heartbeat.

Sameen was alive.

Before she could dwell on thoughts again, Shaw took a step back from Root, letting her hand fall back to her side, and taking a thorough look at her body, inspecting for wounds and other anomalies. “You’re bleeding.” She said grumpily, but Root saw a hint of worry on Shaw’s face, as if she were pretending not to care, but the tense muscles were giving away that it did more to her than she let Root take notice.

“I’ve had worse.” Root flirted automatically, taking a step towards Shaw again as she smiled weakly. “It’s just a scratch.” She tried to pull up her lips a little higher, reassuring Shaw that it was indeed merely a superficial wound that didn’t need treatment. But what was supposed to be a smile, was closer to a grimace. Even Shaw could tell.

“Root.” Shaw said with an exasperated sigh, not taking back any steps again and keeping the close distance as she glared pointedly at Root, getting her to look back at her, trying to detect whichever emotion she wasn’t displaying. Then she rolled her eyes and began looking for supplies she could use to treat the wound. Ultimately, she concluded that anything in the room was probably covered with bacteria and other nasty organisms – due to the heat and what she estimated to be more than scarce cleaning sessions – so she started ripping at the sleeve of her own shirt, trusting the cloth would be less bad and infective than the other materials within her reach.

She ripped the part she had acquired in two, using one half to clean up the wound as much as she could, and more importantly, stem the bleeding. “I love it when you play doctor.” Root piped up, though it sounded strained this time because of the pain. She wasn’t bothered by it. If only, normally this sort of thing would arouse her, leaving her wanting Shaw even more. 

Shaw glared at her, but it lacked the intensity it usually had. There was something soft about it, as if Shaw were concerned about Root somehow. Her actions had been reckless, and everything pointed at the fact that good preparation had been missing from the start on. Root had known the schematics, but she didn’t have a plan. It was as if everything they’d done that day was improvisation, but the kind that didn’t involve the Machine whispering in her ear what she needed to do in order to survive.

Something was wrong, Shaw could tell, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on the sore spot. It frustrated her to no end, because she didn’t know how to handle this kind of situation. She wasn’t good at feelings. She didn’t understand them. She could tell when people were upset or sad or mad, but she didn’t know how to talk about it. Or even more so, what to say that wouldn’t immediately cause Root to shut down on her.

When the bleeding had stopped – mostly – Shaw searched for things she could use to produce an emergency bandage. She was pleased to find that apparently the IT department of this company was a big fan of keeping bundles of wires together with duct tape instead of the more logical use of zip ties. She figured that it would do the trick, not having other options anyway. She took the other – still remotely clean – piece of cloth and covered Root’s wound with it, keeping it in place with her left hand. With her other hand she tried to tear the tape, that was partly stuck to itself, but it was obvious she needed two hands to get it untangled.

Root’s hand covered Shaw’s, keeping the torn clothing in place, giving the tinier woman the chance to fiddle with the piece of material and acquire the right amount of tape. When their fingers brushed together, Root felt that familiar spark within her. Electricity. That rush of adrenaline and admiration she’d felt so many times before and she found that she missed it.

She wanted nothing more than to just lean in and kiss. Kiss till she forgot about her own existence. Breathe in the smell of gunpowder and sweat and forget all about the last months. How they had worn Root down, to the point where she didn’t recognize herself when she looked in the mirror. To the point where she’d thrown so much away…given so much up just for the sake of finding and saving one of the only people in the whole world she cared for. The woman that made everything she had fought for worth it. The woman that had saved her.

But the things she had done...They had stripped away parts of herself, and left her awfully naked in the cold, the wind cutting her skin. She was surrounded by nothing but that icy feel and darkness. It wasn’t like before. Like when Root hadn’t known about the existence of Sameen Shaw. Because then Root hadn’t cared about the world. Everything was just bad code. Now, Root had changed. Changed in ways she could have never foreseen. Loved like she never would have imagined.

Things were different now. Even from when Root hadn’t known about Shaw’s survival. She had kept that hope in the back of her head.. Even though she had stopped looking for her. There was still that hope. And that made it easier to do the things she had to do. The things she had done. Causing mayhem..Torture.. Murder. Falling back into her old pattern.

But in that moment, when Shaw was beside her, that constant feeling of loss had replaced itself with something new. Something.. much more painful. She could not quite fathom into words what it exactly was that she felt, but it left a clenching feeling in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe.

She had to remind herself to breathe. She had to take control of the situation, because if she lost her calm, all would’ve been lost. And all of the sudden, she realized that they had no time. They were in a server room in the building they had just penetrated to steal a flash drive. It dawned on her that they had to get out of there. And in that moment the closet felt too small. She needed more space. Needed to breathe.

Shaw had noticed the anxiety in Root’s eyes. In her body. All of her limbs and muscles suddenly tense with that flight instinct. Shaw decided that it was best if she finished what she started as quickly as possible, so they could get the hell out of that closet. Out of the situation. They were still not out of the woods yet, and it seemed like the worst possible timing to have a heart-to-heart. Not that Shaw was up for anything like that anyway. 

When Shaw was done, and after she had checked up about three times if the home-made emergency dressings would hold long enough to get them out of the building, Root said affectionately: “Thanks sweetie,” while her lips curled into that amused smile that was so typically hers. Again, it lacked a certain conviction that had been there before the stock exchange, and it frustrated Shaw somehow.

Exasperation flared up within her again. Shaw wasn’t sure if it were because Root was clearly keeping up appearances, or if it were because Shaw didn’t know why. She used to know how to read her face; having control over the situation. But it was as if all the expressions she had filed away in her memories had changed, and didn’t mean anything they had meant before.

Even to Shaw it looked something alien. Something that didn’t belong, but she couldn’t put a finger on the sore spot. She couldn’t grasp what was going on in Root’s head; why she was acting the way she did. Why her muscles seemed to be tense instead of relaxed, like they usually were. But the answer didn’t lie in her muscles, and didn’t lie in the wrinkles of her face. And the only way for Shaw to understand what was going on with Root was to blatantly ask.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Root,” Shaw sighed. She wasn’t certain as to what she wanted to say, and if she wanted to say something. Anything. She wouldn’t even know how to convey in any words what was on her mind, let alone speak them aloud.

“ _Sameen_.” Root countered with a hint of suggestion in her voice, but Shaw ignored her.

“What’s going on?” The shorter woman inquired sharply. It took her a lot of self-control not to snap at Root, but she figured that if she desired from her to spill the beans on whatever was exactly wrong, getting angry wasn’t the way to get the job done.

Root raised her eyebrows in surprise, expecting any question but the one Shaw had just picked. “Why, Sameen? Are you worried about me?” She retorted with a thin voice, but still sweetly as always. It wasn’t a question. It was a suggestion. Root was desperately trying to turn the tables on Shaw, but it wouldn’t work. Shaw knew something was up, but she decided to drop the subject for the time being. Root was on defense and she wouldn’t get any valuable information right now.

“We have to get out.” Shaw said as she rolled her eyes, supporting the sentence with an exasperated sigh to emphasize that she was positively done with their mission. That she was done with Root holding back whatever she was holding back. She tried the normal way. The way most people would handle this sort of thing. Not Shaw. It required a lot of energy and effort for her to attempt reaching Root. But she took a shot at it anyway, because even though she hated to admit, she cared. And for Root she was willing to look past her own ways in order to achieve the impossible. Root knew that. Root was all too aware of the fact that Shaw was trying so hard, but still she wasn’t going to budge. A next step would be for Shaw to beg. But there was no way in hell Sameen Shaw would ever do that.

She turned to the door, brushing Root’s arm as she made the movement. She felt the other woman’s muscles tense at the swift contact, but knowing Root wouldn’t tell her why she was so on edge in Shaw’s presence, and it wasn’t the time to pry any further, she just filed the information away for future reference and continued doing what she could do best: recon.

She took stand against the door, leaning close with her ear against the wood, listening to the sounds, or better, the lack thereof on the other side. When she had concluded the coast was clear for now, she turned to Root again. “You got a plan?”

But the other woman shrugged casually and smiled, so annoyingly amused with the situation that it ached Shaw to the point that she wanted nothing more than to wipe it off her face, but she let it slide for as long as she could. She just wanted to get the hell out of that server room. “Root.” She added impatiently.

“To the left.” Root said suddenly. She had the same look on her face as every other time She was talking to her. The Machine. In some sort of trance-like manner she got into position to proceed their escape. Root was in God Mode. “Two hostiles incoming.”

Shaw quickly grabbed her gun from behind the waistband of her jeans, training her gun in the direction Root had gestured. Adrenaline was running through her veins once again, immediately being triggered by Root’s behavior in the same way her appetite sparked at smelling steak. “If I’m going to shoot them, I’ll tip the rest of them off.” Shaw breathed gruffly, concentrating on the sounds in the hallway.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to get around that.” Root retorted gleefully, again that annoying smirk on her face. Shaw decided to keep her quiet this time, her hand resting on the door handle, ready to strike.

Eventually, when she finally heard footsteps approaching, she swiftly opened the door, slamming it open wide. A loud thud indicated that at least one of the two guards that was searching for them had walked – or ran, depending on the speed – right into the door, and Shaw moved around the corner to take care of the other. When Root stuck her head around that same corner to check up on her grumpy company, she had the one that was still standing in a chokehold, the other already out like a light.

Root checked if the hallways were empty, waiting for further instructions from the Machine, who had finally decided that silence wasn’t the answer that day. After the other guard dropped unconsciously on the floor, joining the other body, Shaw spurred Root onto action. They needed to move. They were running out of time, and sooner or later the other guards would find out what they had done to their colleagues, and therefore it would betray their location. Getting away from it had become an increasingly higher priority.

“That way.” Root gestured in the general direction in which the guards had been running, starting to resume their path.

“You can’t run.” Shaw pointed out as soon as the movements of the other woman suggested she was going to do just that. “Root, it’s dangerous. You have a hole in your side.” She added when Root stayed silent, not indicating in the slightest that she was going to walk instead of run.

“I’ve had worse. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Root lied, trying to sound light and indifferent about it, but she knew the other woman was right. It hurt her more than she’d like to admit, and she had the feeling she could lose her balance at any moment. But she didn’t have another choice. They had to get out of the building, and it’d be best if it went as fast as possible.

Shaw rolled her eyes, deciding that she’d let Root do whatever she saw fit, but making sure the other woman knew she didn’t agree on her way of handling the situation. If her pride and back would have allowed her, she would have carried Root herself, but that was not an option. Nor in a hundred years; neither for infinite amounts of money.

So the two of them began running – well, more like jogging, much to Shaw’s relief – through the halls. With the Machine as their guide they made it through a few dozen yards unscathed, until they had their next encounter with a hurdle of guards. No less than five of them. Shaw eyed them as she contemplated the best tactics. She knew there was no way she could take them out without alarming the others. Root was in no shape to fight, and Shaw couldn’t handle five of them without the use of a gun.

She made eye contact with the taller woman, who nodded at her, apparently getting what Shaw was up to. Her hand slipped behind her back, wrapping around her gun. Root was almost hundred percent positive that she didn’t need it, but kept her hand on the cold metal anyway, finding some kind of solace in it.

Shaw checked her magazine once more, and loaded her gun. After she had glanced over her shoulder at Root, she concentrated on her targets, assessing which ones to take down first. When she’d decided on her tactic strategy, she brought her arm up, taking her aim.

The first three bullets hit their targets, damaging their kneecaps and rendering them incapable of fighting back. The other two, however, found cover: one ducked behind some forgotten portable file cabinet only yards away, and the other fled around the corner at the end of the hallway, firing his own spray of bullets in Root and Shaw’s direction. One advantage was that the guard furthest from them wasn’t a good shot due to the big distance that separated them, so Shaw could focus on the nearest of the two.

At some point she thought she felt something shift next to her, but with the furthest guard reloading his gun, she was concentrating on the nearest guard. He was desperately taking cover behind the file cabinet, making it hard on Shaw to take him down. But she needed to take him out of the equation first before she could get any closer to the other assailant.

She waited till the next spray of bullets had died out again, and seizing the opportunity to take the guard out. She sneaked up on the cabinet, catching him off guard. A few swift moves and a well-aimed hit on the back of his head with her gun rendered her victim unconscious, leaving her with only one other guard standing. When she turned to him, she saw the barrel of his gun trained on her.

He was taking a few steps towards her, keeping Shaw and her reactions carefully under scrutiny. He tentatively put down his feet on the ground, as if he were weighing his options while he did so, never averting his gaze. He had the upper hand and he needed to make the right call. The smaller woman was a deadly one, and he doubted she’d let him handcuff her without a fight. He’d seen her just seconds ago, effectively taking out four of his colleagues, who were either unconscious or squirming in pain. Obviously, he didn’t want to end up like them.

But pulling the trigger.. It was not something he did when the opponent was unarmed. Not like this.

“Get down on the ground.” He exclaimed, trying to put as much confidence in his voice as he could, but failed miserably. His voice was shaky and so were his hands for that matter. Even if he decided to take the shot.. He didn’t know if he would hit his target. He was only a few feet away from the woman, and normally it would be an easy shot. If only he could get his hands steady.

He inhaled deeply. Something he’d always done when he was nervous, and even this time it helped him a little. So when his hands stopped trembling, and the woman didn’t budge, he positioned his finger on the trigger.. Ready to pull.

Then he heard a gunshot, followed by feeling a sharp pain in his knee. His leg wasn’t able to hold him anymore, so he collapsed right down at the spot. His mind couldn’t immediately fathom what had happened, but he knew it wasn’t the woman he had just ordered to lie down on the ground. So he only had one explanation for it.

She had a partner.

Root emerged from behind the other corner the guard had been situated just minutes prior, holding her gun in her hand. She walked up to the guard, who was reaching for his own gun, but to no avail. Root kicked away his piece, successfully disabling him to fight back. It was best if he didn’t try. She only needed a clean getaway. No one had to die.

“Took you long enough.” Shaw said grouchily, but she was also smirking slightly. “I was about to take him out myself.”

“Well.. You can take me out instead.” Root flirted, the tone of her voice sending chills down Shaw’s spine and she had that awful smile plastered on her face, as if nothing in the world could amuse her more than taunting Shaw. She knew better than to believe the act though. If it had been pre-Stock Exchange era, she would have. But not this time. Not when she had seen her face clouded with worry. Subtle but visible.

 Shaw pushed a new clip into her gun with a loud click, shooting daggers at the other woman, trying to put as much force and suggestion into the movement as she could. If Root were going to keep playing this game, she could too. And she would sure as hell win it. Sameen Shaw did not lose any games. And certainly not from Root.

“Let’s move.” Shaw mumbled gruffly. She was twenty shades of done with this mission and the need to get it over with grew stronger the longer they stayed in one place. “Which way?”

Root appeared to be sunken in thoughts for a moment, but Shaw knew she was waiting for directions from the Machine. Root didn’t put her gun back behind the waist band of her jeans this time. Shaw knew it was more of a tether to her than anything else. She had only two bullets left, and she had to be careful not to use them all at once. Only in case of emergency.

Shaw could have taken out the guard herself, but she would have caused much more harm, and might have even killed him in the process. Root could do it relatively harmless, and so she figured it was the better of the two options they’d had. But that meant that Root had only two-thirds of her initial bullet count left.

The woman walked up to the gun she had just kicked away from the guard, picking it up. She checked the clip, finding it empty. She repeated the same with the rest of the guns that were within reach; the ones that the guards had previously owned, but were Root’s to rob. Eventually she had gathered one gun and two extra – all the guards were equipped with the same standard-issue weapon – almost-empty clips, stuffing them in her pockets, and putting the spare gun behind her waistband.

She had five rounds on top of the two she’d already had. She still needed to make sure she didn’t use too many, but it would do. It was better than nothing to defend herself with at all. So compared to that, it was everything.

She gestured in Shaw’s direction, encouraging her to follow as the Machine gave her the route belonging to the fastest – that is, one that involved as few bullets as possible – exit strategy. Shaw did what was asked, holding up her gun at all times. If she were to accompany Root on a mission, she would make sure she was safe. It was her job to do so, even when the people she was protecting were being reckless and didn’t seem to care at all.

“She tells us we should split up.” Root spoke quietly, seemingly wary of any guards in their proximity. When they were in the middle of the crossing of two halls, she listened for instructions from her God, looking in both hallways for any indication of movement, but she didn’t spot any.

Root stayed still for a few moments, her eyes quickly flashing from hallway to hallway, concentrating on every sound she could hear – that being everything she could actually hear with her left ear, and the Machine in her cochlear implant.

“Root?” Shaw inquired, wanting to know what exactly the plan was. They were in the same place for far longer than she liked or considered wisely and she felt the need to move. Soon. “What..?”

“That way.” Root interrupted her mid-sentence, pointing in the right hallway. “At the ending, go left.”

“What’s there?” Shaw questioned, turning to Root, who was already walking in the direction they had been headed minutes earlier.

“You’ll see.” Root lilted, turning to walk backwards to flash Shaw a smile. She spun on her heel and continued her journey to whatever mayhem was awaiting her, so Shaw decided to do the same, taking the hallway Root had appointed her to take. She walked in the directions the other woman had given her, and heard the muffling sounds of what she assumed to be another group of guards.


	3. Chapter 3

She listened carefully, trying to figure out with how many they were. She could distinguish at least three different voices, taking into account that there might be more of them, people that didn’t speak up or that she mistook for having the same voice. Not that Sameen Shaw ever made such mistakes.

But, just to make sure, she tentatively peered around the corner, seeing four guards there: three huddled together, apparently discussing something Shaw couldn’t make out, and the other was standing away a few feet, leaning against the wall casually, looking around like he was on watch, and in Shaw’s opinion, doing a terrible job at that.

She quickly concocted the less flawed plan to take them all out without actually murdering them, concluding that it would be a tad easier than with the five guards minutes earlier. There was one guard less this time, but contrary to the previous time, they weren’t all standing close together. It would give the secluded guard enough time to duck away, but only if he had a good response time. However, aiming for the singular guard first would alarm the other three, and would create an even bigger problem for Shaw.

One that she wouldn’t always try to avoid, but in this situation she didn’t have that much ammo to spare and she had the suspicion that leaving Root alone with trouble for too long would be a bad idea. Especially with the erratic behavior she had showed that day.

And so Shaw found herself taking aim for the kneecaps of her three unknowing victims, and shot them smoothly, in one swift motion. Well, it wasn’t so smooth for the guards, who were moaning and groaning in pain, frantically reaching for their blown kneecaps with their hands as if that could stop the pain somehow. But like Shaw had predicted, the fourth one got away. She wasn’t quick enough and by the time she wanted to aim for the other guy, he had ducked behind the wall, seemingly better prepared than Shaw initially figured he’d be.

She found cover behind her own wall, pushing herself against it and waiting for the bullet spray, but nothing happened and there was no indication that anything was going to happen. She waited for twenty seconds, just to be sure, but when she didn’t hear anything, she decided it was time to take a look; investigate the premise. With her gun still lifted, she tentatively tip-toed in the direction she presumed the guard had fled in. On her way, she kicked away the guns that had dropped when the other guards had reached for them while Shaw had shot them.

They didn’t seem too happy with Shaw’s presence, and that she was planning on going after – what Shaw assumed to be – their coworker. But then again, Shaw didn’t care. She had a mission, and they just happened to be in her way. She had crossed the hall and finally reached the corner she had last seen the guard, but when she took a peek in the hallway, it was empty.

She felt suspicion creep up again. She was wary of the situation, finding that something was off about it. As if it were a trap and she was about to walk right into it. But Shaw had found herself in more perilous situations, and she was still breathing. Alive and kicking ass. The irony was, that she had always felt more alive in these situations rather than the safe ones. When she could feel the adrenaline flow through her veins, tightening her muscles, ready for action.

Her heart was beating in her throat, her senses on high alert, but that didn’t faze her. Shaw didn’t bend for emotions, or any signs of fear. She didn’t know fear. She knew anger, and she knew that whoever was going to surprise her, would meet the other end of her wrath. She wouldn’t kill, just inflict. But she exactly knew where to shoot to cause the most pain; even if it didn’t end up killing her unfortunate victim.

But she couldn’t find the guard that had fled. Instead, she found something else, walking in on a situation she didn’t want to walk into. Less than anything else. Root, face to face with an armed man, pushed back up against the wall. He had his gun pressed against her forehead, undeniably ready to blow her brains out. But the thing that appalled her the most was Root’s lack of recoil.

Root was just standing there.. Looking at the man she would undoubtedly be able to take out in a few swift moves, just like Shaw had taught her. Shaw had seen her do it before. Hell, she had even been able to take down Shaw in some of their sparring sessions, even though Shaw didn’t like to admit that. So why wasn’t she fighting back? Instead of leaning into the wall as if it could swallow her any moment, or rather that moment. As if that were the whole purpose of it all along.

Shaw heard the man cock his rifle, being instantly aware of the fact that something could happen any moment. However, his hands were shaking, and Shaw, who had been slowly sneaking up on the two of them, saw the opportunity to disarm him, and twist his arm behind his back. She half-expected Root to throw a punch while she held him in one of her so preferred choke-holds, but nothing happened.

Root just kept leaning against the wall, her face pale as those very walls. Her eyes as empty as the hallways that were just vacated. At least, that was what Shaw figured it looked like. She had no idea of what it was that Root was feeling in that moment, and she silently cursed herself for not understanding emotions. So she did the thing she knew. The thing the situation screamed for.

“Root.” Shaw said sternly, dropping the now unconscious man carelessly and gripping the collar of Root’s jacket. “Move.” When she didn’t earn a response, she opted for a more drastic method. She grabbed the dazed woman’s hand and dragged her down the hallway she thought was the one closest to the exit. The one that would get them out of this mess, so she could spend some time throwing books at Root.

“If you’re not telling us where to go..” Shaw huffed, Root right behind her, not really having much of a choice with Shaw’s coercion. “You’re going to get us killed.” But then Shaw realized Root’s own demise wouldn’t do much to persuade her to fight, to get them out of this death trap. “You’re going to get me killed.”

That seemed to snap Root out of the trance she was in, her gaze snapping up at Shaw, staring with glazed eyes, and never saying a word. However, Shaw sensed Root was now tugging Shaw’s hand instead of the other way around, taking over control from Shaw. It was her turn to guide them to safety.

Shaw felt awfully whipped in that moment, her hand still in the other woman’s, and it embarrassed herself to no ends. She didn’t do handholding. She didn’t do cozy. Fire in an oil refinery was her cozy. Hot and harsh, rough and rash. She didn’t do cuddling or other awkward displays of affection that she didn’t know what to do with. That she just didn’t get on an emotional level.

But shooting bad guys and escaping from impossible situations was something she did do. And in that moment it just happened to be Root by her side. She just happened to be holding her hand. It had nothing to do with romance or whatever the hell it was between them. It had nothing to do with displays of affection. She knew Root did a lot of things to grate on her nerves or annoy her, but this wasn’t one of them. The pressing urge that came with them getting out of a building full of people that wanted to capture them, or possibly even dead.

It had nothing to do with.. feelings.

_Feelings_. The word left a bitter taste in Shaw’s mouth. She had never given the concept a second thought. Not even a first thought. It was just something that didn’t occur to her that could happen. Never had had them before. It was something she didn’t do. It was easier that way, because hell if she knew how to deal with them. _Feelings_. She almost cringed at the word, a chill running up her spine. Just thinking about the possibility that she was having feelings for Root was a big no for Shaw. Adding ten exclamation marks.

No, feelings were not her thing. Except hate and anger of course. Anger was easy. Shooting a few people was easy. Everything else was just messy and off-limits. No, Sameen Shaw didn’t do feelings. She didn’t care for people.

Or did she?

Just not as strong as other people, perhaps. Well, surely. But she cared for a few people. A handful of people she’d go through hell and back to protect, keep safe and never let anyone lay a hand on. Even – or maybe specifically then – if those people didn’t seem to care about their own safety too much. Not that she would admit that aloud. She was hardly able to admit to herself that there were people in her life she didn’t want to die.

But people like Michael Cole and Genrika Zhirova – and later Root – had made her realize that she wasn’t just cold and emotionless; a robot like some people called it. Especially Root had. The woman that kept flirting with her just to piss her off to the point where it wasn’t just a joke anymore. To the point that it didn’t annoy Shaw as much as it used to do so, even if she still tried to pretend it did. To the point where Root had been in trouble so deeply that she was going to get herself killed, and Shaw rode a bike all the way through the city to Root, just to save her. And more events like these had occurred.

So the fact was that Sameen Shaw did care.

She cared enough to do those things. She would follow Root into lots of danger, always ready to deflect the reason being that she cared. Shaw thrived on danger, and she’d always use it as her excuse to opt in favor of situations that made her heart race that happened to involve backing up Root, or even saving her. But she didn’t necessarily follow Root into fights and mayhem because of that thrill. She was awfully aware of that fact. But that didn’t mean other people should know about that. Preferably not, if it were up to Shaw.

No, if it were up to Shaw, she’d try to erase all knowledge she had acquired over the time. She’d try and forget about everything, just assigning it to the excitement and rush she felt whenever she was on missions with Root; nothing else. Everything beyond that was just too complicated. Something Shaw couldn’t fathom. It was unfamiliar and undiscovered territory Shaw had no interest in walking in. And with no interest she also meant that she felt the opposite of comfortable by the idea alone.

But here she found herself, contemplating a subject that made her mind bring up so many objections and contradictions that she didn’t know what to do with them. She didn’t know which conclusions to draw or if she even could do that. Hell, she didn’t even know if she wanted to. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

Before she could resume her train of thoughts, she got brutally yanked out of it by gunshots, immediately sagging her knees to lower herself, tugging Root down with her. They had been walking through a hallway, straight as a ruler, and so they had no way to look for cover but just making themselves small.

Root didn’t seem to respond to the shots, though, so Shaw threw her flat against the floor, attempting to cover her with her own body as much as she could, almost laying on top of the woman as she started to fire shots at their opponents. But Root still didn’t do anything, even though she still had a gun and – Shaw assumed she hadn’t used any of the bullets she had had before they split up – seven rounds to use. She just laid there, frozen in place. If Shaw had to guess, she was having some sort of panic or anxiety attack.

Which she found odd, because Root never had panic or anxiety attacks. Root thrived on danger, just like Shaw. She didn’t freeze during attacks, she riddled her enemies with bullets, preferably while wielding two guns. In this case she only had seven bullets, which made it impossible to exactly do that, but this reaction was quite the opposite from it. It was almost as if Root didn’t want to fight back.

Which happened to be one of the reasons that Root wasn’t fighting back. But not the main one.

If Shaw had had the time, she would have worried over the woman beneath her, but she had to protect the two of them, while trying not to empty her last clip of bullets in one shoot-out just yet. And since Root wasn’t going to do anything to get them out of this situation, she had to come up with an escape plan as well.

So she grabbed Root’s wrist and squeezed. “Root.” She urged, trying to get Root’s head back in the game. “Root.” She said somewhat louder, her grasp a little stronger, shaking lightly. “We need to get away.” Her brain faltered when it tried to come up with a greater incentive, one that would spur Root onto action for sure. “Please.” She sighed, knowing very well it was a futile attempt but going for it nonetheless.

Another four gunshots resounded through the halls and then everything was quiet, earning raised eyebrows from Shaw. She looked up in the direction the opponents had been shooting from, but failed so see a thing. No movements. Just quietness.

This situation raised red flags in every other way, but Shaw decided she cared more about escaping than contemplating. Whatever it was that caused the attackers to quit shooting, it was a gift wrapped in flashy ribbons, and in that moment, Shaw wanted to take it with both hands, all too greedily, even though she was suspicious of what it contained.

She would deal with that later. Even if it were a trap, it was a way to push back their seemingly feasible demise a few minutes further, and she would handle the potential consequences their actions would have later. When she was sure there wasn’t going to be gunfire anytime soon, she scrambled up, placing her gun behind her waistband, tucking it away for later use. She wasn’t certain if it were safe enough to disarm herself like that, but from the looks of it, Shaw could tell Root wasn’t going to haul her sorry ass from the floor by herself.

So Shaw did. She kneeled, flipping her over, facing the woman. She was just staring at the ceiling, her eyes devoid of any emotion. At first, Shaw thought she was dead, her blood running cold in her veins, but when the woman stirred – luckily, she was still breathing – she realized it was a false scare. Then her eyes averted to the woman’s shot wound, the one she had taken care of with duct tape, and she spotted the open wound. It had started bleeding again.

Shaw figured she must have put too much pressure on Root’s body while she was giving her cover, allowing the wound to bleed harder and harder. She lifted Root, checking for the amount of blood she’d lost. When she saw the red stain on the floor, and even moreso the blood that was seeping into her shirt that was leaving an even bigger stain, she knew something was wrong. She knew the wound was worse than she’d initially thought, or maybe hoped.

She squeezed Root’s shoulder, trying to earn a response, or anything really. Just to know it wasn’t too late yet. Just something to give her hope. She pressed on the wound, pushing as hard as she could. Root’s eyes fluttered, and a moan escaped her mouth. Shaw sighed in relief, but she didn’t dare to sigh too hard. Just because she was still breathing, didn’t mean she’d survive.

Her hand found Root’s forehead, finding it cold and sweaty, and she let it slide down her skin to her neck, gently pressing her fingers to her pulse point. She counted the beats as she looked at the time on her watch, concluding that her heart rate was too irregular, but fast and weak. Which meant that Root was likely getting into shock.

Which meant that she needed to get her to a hospital quickly.

But she reminded herself that she couldn’t. No hospitals. If the guards were to pursue them, their first stop would be the hospital. Root had lost a lot of blood, and it showed those exact signs on the floor, so it wouldn’t take long for them to jump to the conclusion that at least Root, perhaps Shaw too, would be hiding out in the hospital. Or so that would be Shaw’s first guess.

However, it wasn’t like Sameen Shaw hadn’t studied medicine in order to never use it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another update :) Thanks to you all for leaving kudos and comments. It is much appreciated! I hope you'll enjoy this one, and have a good day.
> 
> Also thanks to my friend for taking the time to beta. ^^

So this was the perfect opportunity to put her skills to a good use. And not just her medical skills. Also her criminal ones. The ones that would render her able to steal bags of blood and an IV, maybe even antibiotics if she could get a good score.

Yet, before she could do any of those things, she had to get out of the building, which appeared to be one of the hardest things she’d done in a couple of months. Not as hard as the events as the stock exchange, which had proven to be a much bigger disaster, but this time Root was slowly bleeding to death, so it would suffice as a close second. And if Root died, it would promptly bump those events to the second place.

Hence, Shaw didn’t see any other choice than to save the woman. She had no idea where the exit was, and since Root was basically unconscious, she had to devise a solution on her own. She looked around, seeing that the halls were still empty. Something that was already obvious because of the lack of gunfire, but something she was taught to do. Recon was Shaw’s best friend in missions, and she would rely on it for the rest of her life.

She just hoped that ‘rest’ would involve a longer time than.. well, that moment.

Just when she was about to retrieve her gun, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She took it out, reading that a blocked number had messaged her. It was a cryptic message. As cryptic as Root’s messages from the Machine could be. It was just a sequence of directions, which Shaw concluded to be the escape route. She memorized them as fast as she could, and tucked her phone away. She grabbed her gun from behind her waistband and placed it on the floor.

She knelt down next to Root, pulling her up. In a few swift moves, she had managed to heave the limp body on her back. With the height difference between Root and Shaw, it was somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, but this way, Shaw had at least one free hand to hold her gun, and the other to keep Root in place.

Shaw would never ever praise someone for bad habits when it came to nourishment, but in that moment it was a blessing that Root was such a lightweight due to her lack of eating a proper meal on a regular basis. It was a gift to her back and legs, and partially made up for the height difference. Shaw was strong, but the weight of a grown woman added up to her own took its toll.

She started following the directions the Machine had sent her, albeit not going as rapidly as she’d like. She didn’t dare to move too bumpily, concerned that the many movements would cause Root to bleed out faster, but she moved with enough speed not to let her bleed out before being able to treat her wound either. Meanwhile, she hoped the action they’d seen that day had been the last of it, and no other guards would join the party, messing up Shaw’s plan to save Root.

Aside of one stray guard, no other assailants dared to take a shot at them. Or rather, it just lacked any security the closer she got to the entrance door. The whole situation reeked of suspicious activities, something that Shaw had felt more than once that day. If it hadn’t been for Root on her back, the chills would have crept up. But neither did she have time, nor the possibility to contemplate what it meant. As long as no one was murdering either one of them, Shaw was inclined to be fine with the whole ordeal.

Nevertheless, Shaw was glad she felt the wind touch her face, sucking in fresh air. But she didn’t take a break from her mission. She had no time to waste. They might have been out of the building, they weren’t out of the woods yet. At least, Root wasn’t, and that was Shaw’s priority in that moment: getting Root safe and sound, her wound treated and a proper amount of blood streaming through her veins. 

Her eyes scanned the perimeter, Shaw thinking of her next step in her plan to succeed in saving Root, since she had now officially run out of directions from the Machine. Right on cue, the Machine sent her another message: ‘Left’. So she twisted around to the left, spotting an unwitting man get out of his car with three bags of groceries, clumsily balancing them in front of him, being blind for any strangers that were out to get his car.

Shaw, understanding the message, took advantage of the careless man, and half-jogged to the car. She opened the backdoor, lowering Root onto the backseat. She only made sure the woman’s legs wouldn’t squash between the door and the car, and got behind the wheel on the moment her victim took notice of the car thieves. “Hey!” He shouted, confused and angry.

Shaw couldn’t blame him though, but she needed his car. It was a life-and-death situation that called for desperate measures, and even if Shaw tried, she couldn’t feel bad about it. Not when Root’s life was at stake.

So she hit the gas, waiting for more instructions. But this time, there were no text messages. The car’s navigation started giving directions though, and Shaw could only assume that was meant for them. She was positively certain that the navigation had been turned off when she’d entered the car, and the route happened to lead to a small clinic somewhere a few blocks away from their location.

It turned out to be a non-profit clinic for homeless people and stealing from the homeless was a low blow even for Shaw. But the Machine had sent them there, so she didn’t have much choice but to go inside, leaving Root behind in the car. She rushed inside, scanning the room for any doctors. When she’d found the person in charge, she explained to her it was an emergency: her friend was bleeding out in the car, and she needed a few units of blood, an IV kit, antibiotics, gauze and a suture kit to help her. In exchange, she would pay royally, enough to cover her new supplies, and even more for saving her time and energy.

The woman smiled at her before she left, wishing her luck with her friend’s life, understanding that Shaw didn’t have any time to explain more details. But the young doctor didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all, probably used to listening to vague stories of how people had gotten their injuries. So Shaw dashed away, her hands full of the necessary equipment to heal Root. Her hopes were growing, knowing that the Machine had her back and was doing a great job at it. Shaw appreciated it when her partners were reliable like that.

Reaching her car, Shaw wondered if she should start stitching up Root’s wounds right there on the sidewalk, but when she opened the door, she felt her phone buzz again. An address flashed across the screen, and she saw the same address light up the screen of the navigation system. So she hopped in the car and drove as fast as the traffic allowed her, arriving at a safe house in record time.

She jumped out of the car, opening Root’s backdoor. She bent down to pull Root on her back once again, carrying her to the safe house. Next to the door, there was a notepad, waiting for a code to be punched in. A password the Machine sent her to her phone. She barged through the door, not thinking of any potential residents that might be present.

But the house was devoid of any human being, and so Shaw stumbled to the kitchen, laying down Root on the cleared out kitchen table. She could only hope it had been cleaned by whomever had been occupying the room before her, not having the time to do an extensive clean-up herself. She rushed back to the car, getting the rest of the things she had acquired minutes prior.

Once she had returned to the kitchen, making sure the front door was closed and locked, she started placing the supplies on the counter, displaying them in the order she needed them. When she opened the IV kit, she noticed the clinic doctor had put something extra in it: morphine. She hadn’t asked for it, but the woman had probably thought it was convenient to sedate her patient when she started stitching them up. Or maybe it was just to make Root comfortable, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. Root was out cold, so she probably wouldn’t even need it until she woke up either way.

Before Shaw started an IV-line, she checked Root’s pulse again, sighing in relief when she found it, weak but still present. She turned her medical mode on as she got to work, making an attempt at saving Root’s life. She installed an IV, and attached one of the units of blood to it, provisionally fastening it to the lamp with some wire she’d found in the counter drawers. It was amateurish, but it would do for the moment, and Shaw was long glad she had found a solution so relatively easily.

As much as you could call the help of an artificial intelligence easy.

To avoid the ‘mopping a floor while the tap’s still open’ effect, she began nursing Root’s wound. Because it had starting bleeding again, her shirt and the duct tape and the piece of cloth had become one sticky mess. Shaw had to peel them off, layer for layer, to find the wound, bigger than it was before, the skin ripped at the edges. It didn’t look good in Shaw’s opinion, but she thought she could handle it.

She reached for the package that contained the gauzes and was grateful to find a small bottle of disinfection fluid. The bottle had a label that read ‘Betadine’, which she had worked with before. She was glad the woman had been so thoughtful about collecting supplies. Shaw had given a list of minimal necessities, figuring a way to use make-shift disinfection fluid – read: vodka or other alcohol-containing products – but this was way more hygienic, and would lower the chances of sepsis and other infections Shaw was wary of causing.

Shaw patted the wound with gauze and some Betadine, cleansing it as much as possible without causing any more damage. Usually she would numb the area around the wound with narcotics of some kind, but since Root was unconscious either way, she decided to save up the bit of morphine she had for when the woman regained consciousness. Shaw supposed she’d be in pain, and would need it more in that moment than in this one.

After checking for other dirt or filth in the wound twice, she took the suture kit. She had done this a thousand times in medical school: stitching up people. She had done it so often that it was second nature, and she thought she was even able to do it eyes closed. But Shaw wanted to do things perfectly, especially in this case. Root was her patient this time, and she wanted to make sure that there’d be minimal scarring and discomfort, despite the fact that she liked grating on the woman’s nerves, getting back at her for being annoying herself.

So Sameen Shaw took her time with every suture, carefully making the moves her muscles were so familiar with. When she was finished, she was satisfied with the result. The stitches were all about the same distance from each other, and about the same width. If she were to measure them with a ruler, she’d find them to be almost perfect. She was quite glad with her neat work as she inspected the influence of the stitches on Root’s skin. From what she could see and feel herself, she didn’t think they would pull too much, but she could be wrong. Not that Shaw was wrong about these things quite often, but with Root she couldn’t afford to deliver anything but the best. Not because she didn’t want the woman to not suffer, but so that she could be on missions again as soon as possible.

Just to have something on her hands, she cleaned up the mess she had made, scrubbing off the blood from the table Root was still lying on. She considered moving Root to the bedroom, having a softer surface to lie on. One that didn’t almost definitely destroy her muscles, but she didn’t dare moving her from her place. The wound had ceased to bleed, and she’d like to keep it that way.

Shaw wasn’t particularly fond of cleaning up, especially not when it involved scrubbing off blood of an oak wood table, but she didn’t know if the Machine ‘owned’ the house in some kind of sense, or if they had borrowed it for the time being, so she needed to make sure there weren’t any traces of Root and Shaw left whenever they were able to leave again. And leaving DNA in the form of blood spatter would certainly fall under that category.

When she was done rummaging around, leaving her with nothing but the possibility of cleaning her gun, she walked up to the fridge for a beer. Unfortunately, it was as empty as her stomach, and she wondered if she should get out to grab Root and her some food and drinks for when Root woke up. But she didn’t dare leaving the woman alone, not when her condition was still unstable.

Reluctantly, Shaw grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water as she thought to herself that Root sure as hell made her go through great lengths to make certain she would be okay. She had spent an outrageously long time without the promise of a decent amount of cold beer waiting for her. Which was a punishment, considering she had just carried another human being through a building. On her back. She scoffed, shaking her head disapprovingly as her eyes landed on the still unconscious woman. The thought of not having beer was almost as bad as the whole evacuation from the building they’d broken into that day.

An involuntary smile played around her lips as she walked up closer to the other woman, her eyes never leaving her motionless body. If she didn’t have any beer to keep her company, she might as well keep an eye on her pale partner in crime. So she settled for a place next to the table, being able to interfere when Root’s health deemed it necessary.

Still standing, she leaned over, her fingers pressed against Root’s pulse point to check for her heartbeat, making sure she hadn’t died in the meantime. The bag of blood was almost empty and she estimated she were to change them somewhere in the next few minutes. She flopped down on the chair and found herself hungry, her stomach grumbling painfully - seriously, Root should be grateful and show it by treating Shaw with lots of beer and steak. They had been out on their mission for hours, and so Shaw hadn’t eaten anything in hours, which was something she didn’t do often. She was used to having a well-filled stomach, never going out on a mission with an empty stomach.

She downed the glass of water, hoping it would still the hunger for a bit. But she had no such luck. So she leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms, staring at a point behind Root. She was going over the events of that day, filing away the strange ones for later discussion, for when Root woke up. She changed the empty units of blood for new ones, and kept guarding the woman while checking her heart rate regularly. There was progression, and Shaw was delighted.

Her eyes were about to flutter closed when the woman before her stirred. Immediately alert, Shaw snapped up, standing within a second and ignoring the dizziness that came with the sudden movement. Her fingers shot to her neck again. She didn’t even need to apply pressure to feel that Root’s heartbeat was almost back to normal. Shaw exhaled in relief, her hand resting on the other woman’s neck as she slowly regained consciousness, groaning in pain.

Root’s hand reached for her with gauze covered wound, her automatic response was to rip it off, but Shaw stopped her. “Root, no.” She breathed, being surprised by how hoarse her own voice sounded. “I’ve stitched it up. I have some morphine. You need some?”

Root nodded slowly, her face clenched in pain as she made the movement. So Shaw reached for the syringe with morphine, and injected some in the IV; enough to numb the pain Root was in. She opened her eyes, and Shaw could tell it was hard on her to keep them that way. “Just go back to sleep, Root.” Shaw said softly. So after Root’s eyes fluttered closed for another time, she didn’t open them again.

To ensure that the woman hadn’t just died under her watch, she checked her heart rate again. She had done that so often that day, that she almost thought she had memorized it. A heart rate. It sounded ridiculous, and of course it was. One could not remember a heart rate. It wasn’t something definite, not something that was set in stone. The heart was unpredictable. Much like Root herself.

But she knew Root. She had her memorized. The way she always faintly smelled of gunpowder, or the way her lips curled up in amusement when she had struck a nerve. The way her voice sounded as she called her ‘Sameen’. The determination on her face when she was on a mission, carrying two guns and targeting opponents. Root in God Mode. Root torturing people, including her.

Little things. Just little things. She could sum up dozens of them. She was good at observing people, and one of the people at the receiving end of her scrutiny was Root. And she was special at that too, special to Shaw. But she would never admit that aloud.


	5. Chapter 5

At some point, Shaw must have drifted off, because at the next moment, Root’s hand was in Shaw’s hair. She wasn’t acutely aware of the situation, feeling a soft pull in her hair, but couldn’t remember why she was resting on a table with her head on her arms. Her neck was sore and her first impression was that she smelled blood and bleach. The hand that was playing with her hair was ruffling Shaw’s hair, nails softly raking her scalp. It was quite a pleasant feeling, until she came to her senses, realization dawning on her as to what was actually happening.

“What the…” Shaw mumbled, sitting up straight, causing Root’s hand to fall back on the table. “You’re awake?”

“For a little while.” Root answered truthfully. She looked a lot more awake than she had been when she had opened her eyes minutes earlier. Shaw eyed her watch. No, hours earlier. Still, Root’s eyes were glassy and Shaw could tell she was still heavily under the influence of the morphine.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Shaw inquired with a disgusted undertone in her voice. She tried to glare at Root, but was failing miserably for some unfamiliar reason.

“You’re so cute when you sleep.” Root retorted in a way that made Shaw think she was both being mocked and actually thought of as cute. Which was something she was absolutely not. And it offended her on some level.

“I’m not cute.” Shaw huffed exasperatedly. She got onto her feet, walking to the cupboard to grab a glass, and filling it with water at the sink. “You thirsty?”

“Parched.” Root answered. She wasn’t even exaggerating, being genuinely dehydrated.

“Can you sit up straight?” Shaw questioned. Her voice had gotten less soft, which was something she was grateful for. She didn’t like to sound like she cared, even though Root knew that she did. She could have left her for dead, but instead she risked her own life to drag Root’s unconscious body around in an attempt to save her life.

“Well, sitting up, yes. I wouldn’t wait for the straight part though.” The woman smirked, adding a Root-certified wink – that meant closing both eyes – to the sentiment for the extra innuendo. She moved into a sitting position, taking the glass from Shaw whose face had contorted into a heavy scowl.

“You could have died today.” Shaw muttered, not having forgotten that the woman had been extremely reckless and careless about her own life that day. It had almost gotten her killed, and if it weren’t for Shaw, it would have. Or she would have been captured. She didn’t know the finest details on the company they had stolen from, but judging from the amount of guards that had been chasing them, she knew it was an important and powerful one.

“Fortunately I have a guardian angel.” Root mused, dismissing Shaw’s anger. She hated that Root had a complete and utter disregard for her own safety, and didn’t even have the courtesy to pretend she cared, even if it were just for Shaw’s sake. And the way she acted in this moment, and just the whole day, made it that Shaw wanted to punch the smirk off Root’s face.

It was almost hilarious, really, so much that she almost wanted to smile along with her. Hypocrisy. Root had scolded her for acting reckless and careless about her own life when her cover had been blown, while Root herself could not give any care in the world if she died or not. She just went on walking through sprays of bullets as if they couldn’t hurt her. But one bullet had, and if it weren’t for Shaw’s interference, Root would have died.

And Shaw damn well knew it wasn’t even a real smile on Root’s face. One that didn’t even reach her eyes. One reserved for people Root didn’t care for. The kind of smile that she used on her victims and useless pawns in her games. It wasn’t the one that should have been directed at Shaw, and not even one she would have directed at her before the events of the stock exchange, and she knew it.

“What the hell happened to you?” Shaw snapped, losing her temper with Root. She was done with the way she behaved, and wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. If Root weren’t going to pretend she cared about her safety, then Shaw would throw out all her reservations about this matter and quit pretending she didn’t either. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

That seemed to wipe the smile off Root’s face, her lips slowly curling downwards. She thought to herself that it was a bit ironic: having a death wish. ‘ _Can’t have a death wish if you’re already dead,’_ echoed through her head. She stared at Shaw, again with those glassy empty eyes, and Shaw held her breath, not having a clue as to what to expect. It could go two ways, and she didn’t know which she preferred. She wanted Root to lash out at her, shouting and screaming. She wanted her to sound the same way she felt, and if it were anger she was feeling, she wanted to hear it.

But the truth was that Shaw didn’t know if it were anger she felt. She didn’t know what was going on in Root’s thoughts, had no idea of what scenario was playing out in her head in that moment. She didn’t know what occupied Root’s mind, and she couldn’t even remember whenever she had lost track of it. She just wanted to know. So much that it had almost turned into a need. She was going out of her mind, and it frustrated her six ways till Sunday. She didn’t want to care this much, and if she could have, she would have gone back in time, preventing herself from getting to know this woman and avoid it altogether.

Reality wouldn’t let her do such a thing though, and even if she could have, she wasn’t certain if it were the right thing to do. Root had changed a lot of things for Shaw, and it annoyed her in ways she couldn’t even put in words to herself, but it had also opened up herself to things she wouldn’t have ever imagined possible.

It wasn’t just about the fact that Root was hot, or that she was good with guns. It wasn’t just about her offers of dangerous missions that made Shaw’s heart race with anticipation, or the way that Root seemed to know Shaw could handle herself. All the way through her life, Shaw was surrounded by people that were scared of her personality and her lack of human emotions. They thought Shaw needed to be fixed. But Root embraced Shaw’s disorder. She loved Shaw because of it, not despite it.

And even though Shaw didn’t do feelings, the reformed killer for hire had won over a part of Shaw. The part that was also in charge of her likings of food, guns, and Bear. She cared for all of team Machine in her own way, but there was something about Root that distinguished her from the others. She wouldn’t know where to pinpoint the exact difference, but there was at least one.

“Why do you care, Shaw?” Root asked, and not in that teasing way that made Shaw cringe. That sugary way that made Shaw’s eyes roll and sigh in exasperation. This time it sounded almost accusing, like it was Shaw’s fault that Root was here with thirteen stitches in her side.

“I don’t.” She said sternly as she shook her head dismissively. “Just stating the obvious.”

An awkward silence took over, thick in the air like it seemed to swallow the both of them. Shaw tried to rationalize whatever was going on, but everything seemed just like waking up from bad dream in an even worse reality. Like she’d woken up in a different world. Things had changed and people forgot to fill her in on the new ways and rules. She was having dinner with the queen, and no one had taught her the proper table manners, causing her to make a complete fool out of herself.

She could just ask Root what was going on, why things seemed different. If it were just her or if it were something else. She couldn’t put her finger on the sore spot and it almost drove her crazy. She wanted to stop caring about it, and in that moment she was glad that she didn’t have the capability to feel strongly. Because if this were just a fraction of what normal people felt like when they cared about someone else.. She didn’t know what she would do if she had the full version of those feelings. Shoot someone, probably.

But Shaw was Shaw, and Shaw didn’t feel strongly. And she didn’t know what to do in situations like these. They required a skill she didn’t possess. A skill that couldn’t be taught, couldn’t be trained. And it was moments like these that she hated it. She wished she could just punch it out of her, but she didn’t want to, and didn’t think Root would appreciate it either. Although, these days Shaw didn’t seem to be knowing what Root wanted anymore. With her behavior and state of mind, she might even encourage Shaw to beat her to death.

Shaw needed to get rid of the tension, before she was going to do something stupid. So she found herself wandering to the bathroom. She stared into the mirror, seeing that she was covered in blood. Root’s blood. Her face was pale and she looked tired. Adding hunger to the equation let Shaw believe that it was a miracle she hadn’t shot anybody yet. She opened the tap and splashed cold water in her face.

She picked up a towel and wiped off the water that had mixed with some of the blood that had gotten on her face, whether it was from carrying around the limp body of her friend, or stitching up the wound that caused the blood bath, she didn’t know. And it didn’t really matter. Behind her, she heard the door squeak, revealing Root in the opening. Shaw turned on her heels, not knowing what to expect, so she kept her mouth shut.

“You’re right. Things have happened.” Root said lowly, her voice somewhat trembling. She sounded lost, like how she had sounded in the period that the Machine hadn’t been talking to her. When Shaw had called her Eeyore. Her eyes were completely drained of all life, staring into the distance like she didn’t see anything. Like it didn’t matter after all. “Terrible things.” She added. Shaw tried to look her in the eye, but the hacker wouldn’t let her, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“Root.. What happened?” She inquired, stepping closer. She knew that Root had a soft spot for Shaw invading her personal space, and if it were going to help her get information, she would exploit it.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Root breathed, looking up at Shaw, her eyes meeting Shaw’s.

“Why not?” They were almost toe-to-toe, Shaw not averting her eyes from the other woman. She was onto something, and she needed to push just a tad further to get results.

“Shaw…” Root whispered, almost like a plea. It was nothing like Root, and still, it was more genuine than anything else she had heard the woman say all day. She knew the emotions she was showing were real this time, because her eyes and voice were on one frequency, not contradicting one another, not cancelling each other out till it lost all meaning.

“Just tell me already.” Shaw said under her breath, not being able to suppress the frustration she felt. Her face was only inches away from Root’s, inhaling the same air. She thought Root was going to step down, confirming Shaw’s suspicion. Her suspicion that Root’s state of mind was her fault. That she had done something wrong, causing Root to behave like this. But she didn’t know what. And she was going to do whatever it took to find out.

“No.” Lips were almost touching, Root’s eyes on the verge of fluttering closed. She couldn’t help herself, the gravitational forces being too strong to keep her at a distance. The need to close the gap grew stronger and stronger, even though she fought that need with everything she had. But she longed to forget. She longed to forget herself, and everything she’d done, everything she’d been through. And it was all too easy to lose herself in Shaw’s touch.

So when Shaw pressed her lips against Root’s, she didn’t pull back. She went all in. It wasn’t tender or gentle, just sheer roughness. Bruising in the most painful sense of the word, and Root dwelled on it for a few seconds. Right before she pushed the smaller woman away. “I can’t.” Root gasped. She turned around, her fingers reaching for her lips. They were on fire, and yet she felt tainted.

“What’s changed?” Shaw asked, being confused about the situation. Only months prior the woman was pursuing her. Like actively trying to win over what some people might call her heart. They had kissed, and Shaw had died for her. Well, not actually died, but she had sacrificed herself for the team. And she had survived. And in this moment, months later, they found each other in a bathroom, sharing yet another kiss, but Root had changed her mind. And Shaw couldn’t fathom what could have happened to Root that made her act this way.

She didn’t necessarily want anything more from Root than the way they used to behave around each other. She just wanted to know what had changed. Things were strange, and nothing like they had been before. They hadn’t transcend the relationship they’d had before, but it wasn’t anything like it was anymore either. They were in a new place, and Shaw didn’t know how they’d gotten there. She was desperately trying to do some old-fashioned recon in undiscovered territory, but everything was darkness and she wasn’t able to see her hand before her face. Nothing she did helped to uncover the mysteries of this place. If anything, everything was drifting her further from knowing just anything. Nothing made sense. Not to Shaw.

“Everything.” Root choked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. this is the last chapter already. Once again I want to thank my beta for her help ^^ You were awesome. Thank you :D  
> Also I want to thank you all for reading this fic. Without readers that care, I'm nothing, so.. Thank you :D I hope you liked it. 
> 
> Now, I already said that I have an option on a second and third part. I have plotted out the second part already (not written it yet though) but I'm only gonna write it if people are interested. So, after you've read this chapter, if you will tell me if you're up for another part, so I can muster up enough energy, scramble up some time and make myself motivated enough to write another part. That'd be great!
> 
> Anyway, enough talk, read! :D

When Shaw’s eyes latched onto Root’s, she saw so much despair and sorrow that she couldn’t stare right at it. It was like staring at the sun. Beautiful, but painful as hell. She didn’t like seeing Root like this. And she hated being the cause of it. She wanted to make things better, wipe away the tears that were clinging to her eyes and rather make a smile emerge. Preferably that mischievous smirk Root would get whenever she was up to something. Something bad.

Before she could say another word, she heard footsteps in the hallway. She automatically reached behind her, but found no gun, realizing that she had put it away when she’d taken care of Root. She cursed herself for not putting it back in place after she’d been done, having to face the consequences now she didn’t have a weapon. And Root wouldn’t be of much help either, with her wound in stitches.

A man that looked awfully familiar walked through the door, calm and without worry. It didn’t seem like he was scared, or like he was going to attack them for that matter. It didn’t take long for Shaw to realize that it was the same man she had seen in the hallways of the building they had invaded hours before. The one that had gotten away. She was about to open her mouth to say something, when he did:

“Would you like a treatment?”

The whole atmosphere shifted at the words. Root just stood there, frozen, staring into nothing, her eyes devoid of any emotion. And Shaw felt the undeniable urge to answer ‘yes’ and follow the man. So she did. She glanced back over her shoulder, and saw Root watching Shaw in the reflection of the mirror. And somehow, it felt like a definite goodbye. Shaw had the feeling she was never going to see Root ever again. And when that thought crashed down on her, the urge to run back took over.

Root looked surprised when Shaw approached her, turning her around in one swift motion. Once again their lips touched, more like a punch than anything else. Shaw drew her impossibly close, like she was trying to put into the movement what she couldn’t put into words. And if it were the last time they’d ever see one another, Shaw was going to throw out all objections she had against this sort of thing. For Root.

Root had to know that what she felt for her was at least in some way returned. She could never love Root the way she loved her, but what she could do was love as much as someone like her could. Which was what she did. And if they were never going to meet again, it didn’t matter if she showed it. It wouldn’t matter anymore. Not to Shaw. But it would matter to Root. It would mean everything.

And for a short moment, Root indulged in the kiss, not being able to resist. One moment of weakness. Even though Root knew it wasn’t real. Shaw wasn’t real. It was just Shaw’s body, with a modified version of Shaw imprinted in her brain, but for that moment she allowed herself to relish in the feel of her lips against hers, rough and painful, but so sweet. Bittersweet.

It felt so right that Root missed the physical contact once they’d parted again. “Maybe someday.” Shaw mumbled under her breath, her eyes latched onto Root’s again. She took a step back to distance herself from the woman, who was staring at her with desperate eyes. Shaw hated it. She wanted to wipe off the desperation of her face, never letting that look invade her face again. But she couldn’t. “I have to go.” She said, her stomach churning, growling angrily. And she supposed it wasn’t hunger this time that caused her stomach to ache.

As soon as Shaw had left the building, Root walked back to the kitchen, crashing down on the seat Shaw had occupied during the time she had been waiting for Root to wake up. She inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath. After six times it was still as hard as it had been the first time Shaw had left. Or well, not Shaw. An imprint of Shaw.

Sameen Shaw had been captured by Samaritan’s operatives, and been tortured for months. Not counting the fake phone call that turned out to be a trap, she’d never budged. However, she had broken. Eventually. And not in the ‘she finally spilled her guts on the information they needed’ kind of way. In the ‘her brain was so damaged that she couldn’t tell her foot from her hand’ kind of way. She had lost her mind, her brain irreparably damaged, and the Dollhouse, a corporation that was associated with Samaritan and Decima Technologies, had taken claim of Shaw’s still functional body.

And from that day on, Shaw’s body had been exploited for an extremely vicious purpose: sex slavery. Or as Adelle DeWitt – director of the Dollhouse Shaw was in – liked to phrase it: “The Dollhouse deals in fantasies.“ Just thinking about it made Root ill. And hiring Shaw, or Yankee, as she was called in the Dollhouse, was something Root didn’t like to do. But after they’d beaten Samaritan, about a year after the Machine was forced into hiding and stuffed into a briefcase, Root wanted to save Shaw. She’d vowed to herself that she would rescue the love of her life, because that was what Shaw would have done for Root. Well, she would have done it either way. Shaw was so much to Root. Root loved her with so much, that she couldn’t imagine living in a world that had Shaw in it, but in a way, didn’t have Shaw in it. It was a paradox she hated, and she wanted to clear it out. Everything had to go back to normal. As much as her life could be defined as normal.

Before they’d beaten Samaritan, she’d had so many things to do, so many missions, and she couldn’t let John and Harold down. Harold would have been able to build the Machine back up alone, but Root had sped up the process and she had brought in her own modifications of what she thought the Machine needed. Granting her the abilities to help them win the war. And because Shaw was gone, John needed someone else to join him on missions, being his backup. And that backup was Root. Ever since Shaw had supposedly died in the stock exchange, John and Root had reached a certain understanding. They’d shared grief, and it had brought them closer together. And Root considered him a friend.

Therefore she wasn’t surprised when she heard the front door open and close, revealing a somewhat shabby John Reese. “Is she gone?” He asked, his voice sounding even croakier than usual. He walked up to the table, where a half-empty bag of blood was still dangling on the wire that was attached to the lamp. He raised his eyebrows, but if he were curious, he didn’t show more than that. He didn’t ask.

“Right before you walked in.” Root responded, almost sounding as hoarse as John did. But in Root’s case, it was because her voice was full of emotion. She smiled faintly, but it felt artificial. She wasn’t sure if she had smiled genuinely ever since the day of the events at the stock exchange. There were moments where she laughed, feeling somewhat real, but the majority of the time she felt empty. As if something very important were missing. Which was exactly the case.

Root sometimes wondered if things would have been different if Shaw had been actually dead. Truly dead. Not like this. She wondered if she would have gotten over it, eventually. Like with Hanna. With Hanna, she hadn’t gotten closure for many years. But in her case, she had known Hanna was dead. It had set her on the dark paths she was destined to travel down, always carrying her memory around with her, and what tragic faith she had suffered.

But it was different. Much. Because Hanna Frey had been murdered. It wasn’t fair, and Root was wronged in everything that had happened and was related to it. But Root had gotten revenge, and Hanna had been buried properly after Reese and Carter had found her remains. It was a chapter that was finished. But with Shaw it was not. It was an open ending. A story that was left for dead by its author.

At the ending of the war with Samaritan, Root had been the one to catch John Greer. And that was very unfortunate for the man that had chased and haunted Root and her friends. The one that had taken one of them, torturing her to insanity. The very – and only – woman that Root loved. She had lashed out at him, hitting him where she could. She had placed her gun on his forehead, threatening to blow his brains out. And all he had done was laugh.

Because John Greer considered himself just a pawn. A pawn in the game he had lost. But the one that had truly lost, according to him, was Root. He had said it with a smug grin, sneering at Root with that awful look on his face. And he had explained Root exactly why. Because she had believed her ‘little girlfriend’ was dead, but in fact, she was alive. He had refused to tell her where she was, earning a couple of punches from Root again. Ultimately he had slipped Root a note, with just one word on it, in elegant letters, perfectly matching Greer’s style of speaking. ‘ _Dollhouse’._

She hadn’t understood. She initially even thought it was a joke. It was just Greer’s last way of messing with Root’s head, before he had pulled the trigger of Root’s gun like many of his employers had done once before.

But reality was far worse. His true harm was hiding in what the note meant. Dollhouse. It had taken her days to find out what it meant, her hacking skills coming in handy. At first, she had believed it was a hoax, it couldn’t be true. But then again, after having seen an artificial super intelligence sacrificing Herself for human beings, she left no stones unturned. So she dug and dug and found the information she needed: names of men and women that were prisoners, being exploited by the Dollhouse. Being used for vicious acts of sex slavery.

And when she had scrolled past the name of the woman that she held so dear, her heart had frozen, and her blood had turned into ice. Because it had meant so many things. Sameen Shaw was alive. But she was also dead: her brain supposedly damaged beyond repair.

And knowing was the worst kind of torture Root had ever endured. Nothing weighted as much as this kind of feeling, the utter powerlessness that came with knowing that a person was alive, but had been stripped from their identity and lost every control and will she had once had. Everything that she had loved about the woman was gone. Everything she still loved about her.

She could go on engagements, as the employers of the Dollhouse liked to call it, with Yankee, having an imprint of Sameen Shaw, or at least, as close to the person that was Sameen Shaw. Because it was crafted by a genius named Topher Brink, composed of whichever Root had described about her, what they could extract from Shaw’s brain scans before she joined, and pieces of personalities Topher used to create his other imprints.

But fact was, that it would always be just that. Shaw’s body with the imprint of Shaw in her head. An illusion. It would never be real.

So from the moment Root had discovered the truth about Sameen Shaw, what had become of her, she had vowed to herself that she would save the woman. She would do whatever it took, and it didn’t matter if she’d endanger herself in the process. She had been ready to die for the woman for a long time, and that hadn’t changed a bit. And in a way she couldn’t even die anymore. The day she had lost Shaw was the day she had died. Whichever part was left of her soul had died with Shaw; had died with the Machine.

However, she had gotten back the Machine. They had rebuilt Her again. Stronger than ever. And that gave Root hope. They had won the war from Samaritan, against all odds. Pandora’s box had unleashed hell on Root and the rest of team Machine, on the world, leaving one last thing left in it; hope. Which she had never stopped having, even when everyone had believed that Shaw was dead. She had always chased her ghost, even though she had no confirmation that she was alive, just little clues that left a trail that she had desperately followed, but she was always too far behind to catch up.

But this time, she was going to take back everything she had lost. Because if there were one thing she had learned from saving the Machine, it was that nothing was truly lost. She just had to find a way to make Shaw better again, to put back the pieces that once were part of Shaw. Like a puzzle. Much like with the Machine. And they had succeeded in that mission.

And this time, she would too.

“I’m going to save her, John.” Root said determinedly, the lines in her face sharply creasing in conviction. She was going to save her love, at all costs. “She needs us.”

“You can count on me.” John said seriously, before a goofy smile spread over his face. One that he always made whenever he was planning to do some mischief. And they were going to cause a lot of mayhem on their warpath to get their coworker free. Their friend. 

And hell, the Dollhouse was going to regret taking in Sameen Shaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize to all of you that have never ever watched an episode of Dollhouse and had no interest in reading a Dollhouse fic, and therefore utterly hate the conclusion of this fic. I'm sorry you invested all this time in something that ended like this. 
> 
> To all of you that do like Dollhouse, I hope you liked it, and the next part is gonna be a Dollhouse fic, so I hope you'll stay (if I decide to write it.. which I think is a fair chance) with me with the next part. :)
> 
> To all of you who don't watch Dollhouse and still kind of liked this fic; I'm gonna write the next part in such a way that you could read it too. I just introduce things like they did it in the show as well.
> 
> And also, I wanted to add that I'm not going to follow the original story lines of Dollhouse itself. It's going to be my own story surrounding the Dollhouse.


End file.
